


Lydia Martin's Theory of Gravitation

by penisparker



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College, F/M, Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:10:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penisparker/pseuds/penisparker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Gravitation, or gravity, is a natural phenomenon by which physical bodies attract each other.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lydia Martin's Theory of Gravitation

**Author's Note:**

> (i hope u guys like this)

“Why are you here, again? Allison left ten minutes ago.” Lydia always asks, because he always has a new excuse. _He_ being Scott McCall, resident sweetheart and champion lacrosse player who is also “super fucking hot” according to her roommate. (He’s _alright_. She tries not to look below the neck, so it’s not like she could give a full detailed analysis, or anything. She doesn’t care to, anyway.)

Scott sighs, sounding about as put-upon as she feels, looking over at her. Lydia doesn’t so much as spare him a glance, because advanced chemistry equations are always more interesting than looking at Scott. _Anything_ is more interesting than looking at Scott. “I _told_ you. She’s at archery practice, so I told her I’d stay here until she came back.”

She wrinkles her nose, looking up at him. “No, no, no. You used that excuse last week, try again.”

“I really enjoy your company?” He tries, even smiling at her, and it doesn’t even work – he knows nothing about smiling with the _eyes_ , so the effect is lost on her. He just looks like a sad puppy. She laughs at the thought, and he frowns. “What?”

“Stop trying so hard, McCall.” She sits up, cracking her neck and scribbling an answer on her notepad. The questions aren’t challenging enough – it feels a lot less like a college course and more like _second grade_. But it’s also good for her ego, so Lydia doesn’t complain too much.

It’s half past noon and her next class is in an hour – if she can blast through the next ten questions in five minutes she’ll have plenty of time to reapply makeup and put on a fresh pair of heels before she shows up, fashionably late, to biology class. She starts to rush, already onto her second to last question, before groaning at the sudden realization that McCall certainly isn’t _going_ anywhere. “God, I keep on forgetting you’re _here_.”

Scott chuckles as he flips through his phone, eyes alight as if Subway Surfers was truly the key to life. For a fleeting moment, Lydia wondered what it would be like to be that careless. “Well, I am. Right here. Just in case you forget again.”

“Trust me, I will.” It’s not an insult, but the cold hard truth. Scott McCall is a blip on her radar, and it will stay that way. She grabs her hair bow and neatly brings her hair up into a bun – it’s carefully constructed enough that it looks a little careless, even though Lydia has the messy bun down to a science. Her newest pair of heels is a brilliant bright red, and just so happen to match with her shirt. Everything’s in season, and her outfit is to die for.

She doesn’t even notice Scott looking up at her until he says something along the lines of “You look nice.” Lydia turns to look at him, and takes it all in – his ruffled hair, the baggy sweatpants and oversized ‘Beacon Hills Senior’ t-shirt. With a tired sigh and a roll of her eyes, Lydia opens the door and leaves without another word.

***

 

The last thing Lydia likes to see when she walks in is Scott, much less Scott _sleeping_. His hair is always ruffled about, like it doesn’t know what to do with itself, and his mouth always hangs open. He snores a little, too, but it’s loud enough for it to be annoying, so she throws a pillow at him as soon as she sees one in sight. Scott comes to with a start, yelling blearily – it would’ve almost been endearing, but Lydia doesn’t _do_ endearing, so it isn’t. Not even a little. (Maybe a _little_.)

She grins at him, sitting down neatly on her bed to pull out her books. “Good _afternoon_ , McCall. What lovely weather we’re having, aren’t we?”

Bothering Scott is a pastime of hers – she relishes in being the only person that Scott openly frowns and at. Lydia wishes that she could put it on her resume. ‘ _Single Nemesis of One Scott ‘Sweetheart’ McCall’_. It would get her into more jobs, certainly. She flexes her fingers, frowning down at the newest set of equations from class – why did she even _bother_ with going to college?

Oh, right. The credentials.

Instead of finishing her homework with an almost embarrassing precision and speed, she tosses her books aside and glances over at Scott instead. He’s still blinking around like a wide-eyed doe, as if he can’t ground himself with the simple fact that he’s in Lydia’s room. _Or_ Lydia and Allison’s room – Lydia prefers to see it as hers only. It works better for everyone that way. She clears her throat, and Scott blinks over at her, frowning. “Do you know where you are? You look lost.”

“No, I’m – just getting used to things. Why aren’t you doing your homework?” He blinks again, propping himself up on his elbows. Lydia crosses her arms and tilts her head.

“I could ask you the same thing,” She says with a slither of venom in her voice, and Scott freezes.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to get grounded, or something?” He sits up all the way, turning to face Lydia. They’re face to face, now.

Good. She enjoys a challenge.

“You know what I’ve _noticed_ , McCall?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer. For whatever reason, this interests her – and nowadays, it’s hard to keep her attention for long. “Every day you’ve been here – which, by the way, is practically every single day of the week – you never come with homework. Now,” she speaks with something like ice in her voice, and she wants to know why she even _cares_ , but she can’t slow down now – “I thought that was strange behavior, seeing as from what I’ve heard you’re ahead in all your classes – but ever since you’ve started dating Allison and coming in here, you’ve probably slipped.” Scott frowns at her, and oh, _there_ it is. The rush of satisfaction – is it weird that Scott’s frown is more appealing than his smile? “I can only assume that you’re intimidated by my intelligence. Which is totally fine. Most guys are.”

“I’m – I’m not intimidated, Lydia.”

She scoffs, and it’s weirdly satisfying. “Listen, it’s okay. I’m not going to laugh at you if you don’t get the basics of thermodynamics.”

“I _do_ get the basics of thermodynamics, I just – don’t like doing my homework in front of people.” His hands twitch, and he starts to bite his lip. Lydia feels weirdly uncomfortable – she likes to push, but never too far. She’s gone off the deep end this time, and she’s not quite sure if she can fix it.

“Um. Why – why not?” She hates stuttering, but sometimes she does, and it’s enough for Scott to look up at her with a brief flash of a smile.

“I kind of finish it really quickly. Except for English, I hate that class.” Scott wrinkles his nose and sticks out his tongue for emphasis, and Lydia surprises herself by laughing.

“I do too, actually.” She grins, and it’s like a weight being lifted off her shoulders, having someone to relate to. Even if it’s just loser McCall. Allison takes hours to finish her homework, even with Lydia’s help – so it’s refreshing to have someone that can stay afloat like she can. She nods appraisingly at Scott, who raises his eyebrows in question. “Here’s the deal – if you sexile Stiles instead of me, I’ll help you with English.”

His gaze gets increasingly more suspicious, but Lydia holds her ground. “You’re serious?”

“As a myocardial infarction.”

Scott laughs, and it’s a little weird – she never tells jokes like that and has someone laugh at it. It’s a genuine laugh, too; something that warms her from the inside out. Lydia grins at him. “Do we have a deal or not?”

“Yeah, we’ve got a deal.” He leans over and sticks his hand out, and they shake it.

Lydia can _assume_ that being friends with Scott is easier than attempting to be his enemy.

***

For once in her life, she’s completely speechless. Scott finishes his homework within ten minutes – beating _her_ record time – and everything’s actually _correct_. She doesn’t know whether to be impressed or jealous.

She settles for both, instead.

“So you can complete a set of equations in two minutes, but the concept of motifs _eludes_ you?” Lydia’s decided that she likes teasing Scott – along with Stiles, she’s probably the only person on earth who does. “Scott McCall, you are an enigma.”

Scott rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, grinning. “You could say that.” They’re sitting across from each other on the floor, textbooks and notes strewn about. (They decided the floor was neutral territory – being on her bed seemed too suggestive, and being on Allison’s was just plain _weird_.) “Could you maybe give me the SparkNotes version of whatever’s going on? But like, slower than SparkNotes.”

Lydia snorts and snatches the book from his hands. He was smart, she’ll give him that, but English was something beyond him. Lydia was special – her brain was like a sponge, whereas Scott seemed to reject anything that didn’t involve numbers and a specific plan. She could work with that.

It took a few minutes, but Scott was quick to catch on – he had made a pretty sizeable dent into his essay, and Lydia couldn’t help but be a little impressed. Just a _little_. She actually _claps_ for him when he’s finished, and Scott gives her the sweetest smile she’s ever seen. Suddenly, Allison’s crush becomes a little bit more understandable.

Lydia coughs and shakes her hair, as if physically ridding herself of the thought, and pats Scott on the shoulder. “Good job – bring your dictionary tomorrow, I’m bringing in the big guns.”

“SAT words?” Scott almost looks hopeful, and Lydia still has the itch to crush it. She’s pretty sure that feeling will never fade.

“Worse.”

He sighs and stands up, grabbing his books with a sigh that seems endless, until it isn’t. “Figures.” Lydia follows suit, brushing down her skirt neatly and primly taking off her suede shoes. She goes from a decent, respectable height to something shorter, and Lydia _instantly_  regrets her decision. (If she could, she’d wear her heels to sleep.) Scott’s grinning at her, though, so the need to put her armor on fades, if only for a moment. “Hey, tomorrow I’ll show you how to play Candy Crush.”

Lydia scoffs, completely insulted. She’s a soon to be Mathematics scholar – what does _Candy Crush_ have to do with anything in her fifteen-step plan? “Scott, please. What do I need Candy Crush for?”

“What don’t you need Candy Crush for?” Scott rolls his eyes and throws his bookbag over his shoulder. “Candy Crush tomorrow, don’t miss it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, McCall.”

He pauses, halfway to the door, and frowns down at her. It feels a lot like being scolded, as if she’s a child, and she doesn’t like that. Lydia crosses her arms and glares at him – Scott cowers, backing away. (Her intimidation skills will always be unparalleled – her RA, Derek, could learn a thing or two, honestly.) “Hey, don’t – attack me, or anything, I just –“he pauses to look down at the ground. God, he always looks so _sheepish_ – like he can’t even handle being in her presence. Lydia digs that, though, so she doesn’t move to stop it. Scott looks back up at her and grins a little. “You don’t have to call me McCall, okay?”

Lydia feels like she’s crossing a line, if she stops calling Scott _McCall_ and just starts calling him Scott, all the time, _consistently_. Like a friendship line that blurs the space between ‘ _Allison’s boyfriend_ ’ and ‘ _my intelligent comrade_ ’. She’s not quite sure she wants to cross it, just yet – it’s something that requires a certain thought and precise decision making.

Then again, she did wanted to know what it was like to be careless. “Fine, _Scott_.” She puts as much acid into the word she can possibly manage, and frowns at Scott’s huge grin. It’s like _sunshine_ , how does anyone deal with him? They stand there for a minute, just staring at each other, until Lydia gets tired of taking him in – she purses her lips, tilting her head. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Scott starts, yelling obscenities she’s never heard him say before, and taking off.

If she actually _did_ endearing, maybe Scott would fit the requirement.

***

The comfort of her dorm bed never ceases to be amazing. She’s buried six feet deep in perfectly matched blankets, all the same thickness, all the same warmth, and it’s perfect for keeping the chilling bite of winter air from her. Her makeup came off as soon as she came home, along with this season’s dress and heels, replaced for bare skin and sweatpants.

Everything was amazing – beyond amazing, even – until Scott barged in the room. Lydia shrieked, and Scott pressed his back to the wall quicker than lightening. “God, what? What happened?”

She can’t even make herself crawl from back under the covers to face him – for once, being cowardly wasn’t a bad thing. No one has seen her without her makeup, and no one ever will. “Go _away_!” Lydia peeks up from under the covers to look at him, only her eyes visible. Scott looks scared, and it’s somewhat amusing, but not so much that she can flip the covers back and have a hearty laugh. Absolutely not.

“Why, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” He’s oozing concern, and it warms her down to the core. (He tends to do that – it’s weird, but she assumes it’s just something _about_ Scott.)

“God, no, no, I’m fine, I just – don’t want you to see me. Pimples, everywhere. Hormones, you know the deal.”

Scott laughs and free falls onto Allison’s bed. God, it’s like he never _leaves_. “Lydia, I’m sure you look fine. And even if you don’t look fine, I won’t tease you.” Lydia doesn’t budge. “Come on, please? I want to show you how to play Candy Crush before I go to meet Allison at Starbucks.”

Lydia rolls her eyes and takes a deep breath – having no makeup on isn’t that big of a deal. She’s gorgeous either way, right? She’s Lydia fucking Martin, she looks fine. She looks _fine_. Lydia pushes the covers back and sits up straight, glaring daggers at Scott. “Happy?”

Scott grins at her, completely unapologetic and all teeth. “Very. Do you mind if I…” he points at her bed and makes a vague gesture that she’s assuming he means he wants to sit next to her, and she just nods. Scott sits a foot away from her, as if he’s scared to touch her, and it kind of makes her smile. Lydia scoots closer to him, her knee hitting his with intent. (She _really_ shouldn’t be doing this, he’s got a girlfriend. And the girlfriend is her _roommate_. Slow down, Martin.)

“Hurry up and show me, Mc – Scott.”

“McScott?” He grins at Lydia as she hands him her phone, and she just rolls her eyes.

“Just get a move on, Scott, I want to go back to sleep.”

Scott chuckles at her, and for the first time, she feels confused. She doesn’t enjoy the feeling. “After I show you this game, you won’t _want_ to sleep.” Lydia just rolls her eyes again and leans over to look down at her phone. Scott opens up the game with a flourish, smiling proudly as he starts up a game. His instructions are firm, but guiding, and Lydia ends up sort of addicted. She’s really good at it. (It’s freeing, being good at something that isn’t completely superficial or educational – just something _stupid_. Something that wouldn’t matter to anyone at an interview, or at the lavish family reunions back home.) 

He ruffles her hair and she lets him – but only because she’s in the middle of a very intense level – and she even waves goodbye.

It feels a lot like progress, and she doesn’t mind it.

***

It’s interesting, coming to her room from a long day of class and being smarter than everyone in the room, and not being annoyed to see Scott there. He’s just become a part of her after-school routine – she’ll take off her makeup and change out of her gaudy clothes and fall asleep. They take naps together, which is – it’s nice. His snoring _isn’t_ nice, but if she falls asleep quick enough, she can tune him out.

Sometimes, when Allison is away on training, Scott comes over with piles of homework and the shortest attention span ever, and Lydia makes do with it. Scott’s surprisingly nice and easy-going in a way that almost _no one_ ever is, and it’s refreshing. She’s gone from being to his nemesis to his friend, and Lydia likes his friendship better than his anger. Or his attitude, really. If there’s one thing that Scott rivals, aside from his intelligence, is his eye roll. It’s _ridiculous_.

So she isn’t really all that surprised when he says he wants to hang out.

“I mean, it wouldn’t be like, a date or anything. Since I’m with Allison.” He pauses, mentally running over his words again. “And I love Allison! But I feel like I never see you outside of these four walls, so we should go somewhere. Like pizza or something.”

Lydia raises an eyebrow at him, and he gulps. “ _Pizza_?”

“Pizza.” His resolve seems to grow, and suddenly, Lydia feels like she couldn’t say no even if she tried.

“Fine. You’re paying, I don’t care how much of a not date this is.” She stands and pulls on the nearest pair of shorts she can see – she’s comfortable with Scott, enough to parade around half naked with no apologies, no self-doubt. She gets the button and zipper with one smooth movement, and tugs at her baggy UCLA sweatshirt.

Lydia turns to Scott, who looks stunned. “What?”

“Nothing, just. How do you _do_ that?”

God, he’s so cryptic it gives her migraines. “Do _what_?” She huffs and slips on the highest pair of flip flops she owns. “Could you possibly reflect and walk at the same time? I’m actually really hungry.” Scott rolls his eyes and slips on his sneakers, opening the door for her. (See? Too nice for his own good.)

“You look like you’ve just come off the runway, and you’re only wearing week old shorts and the baggiest sweatshirt known to man.”

Lydia squints, looking down at her outfit with a critical eye. It’s shabby, but not too bad that she can’t be seen in public. They’re only getting pizza, and it’s not a date, so who cares? “That sounded a lot like a backhanded compliment. Also, how do you know these shorts are a week old?”

Scott shrugs, his arms swinging a little as he walks. Lydia’s got her hands shoved into the pockets of her shirt, even though it’s not cold outside. Los Angeles never goes under a crisp 80 degrees. “Saw you wear them a week ago. With something really bright pink. Stiles said you looked like fashionable Pepto Bismol.”

Lydia scoffs and flips her hair back, rolling her eyes. “Stiles also thinks that plaid shirts and sweatpants are the _pinnacle_ of male fashion, so I try not to care about his opinions too much.” Scott laughs at that, and it’s so _irritating_ because it’s really a lovely sound. It’s deep and endless, like the sea; like he couldn’t help his laughter if he tried. Scott’s so genuine it hurts.

They walk to the pizza place in silence, their arms brushing together amicably. Scott opens the door for her again, and she grins at him in a silent thanks. When they start to order, Scott stops her and winks. “I got this.”

“I highly doubt that,” Lydia says with a quirk of her eyebrow, but she lets him order for her anyway – it’s _Scott_ , she’s quite sure he’s fully aware that she could stab him twice over with her stilettos in the back alley if he doesn’t get anything one hundred percent delicious. Lydia’s given him faith, just this once.

He’s paying for it, anyway.

Lydia grabs her tray and sneers at the pizza. It’s _covered_ in meat and cheese, and she should’ve known this was a bad idea, why did she think for a second that _McCall_ would know what to get her; this isn’t even a _date_ –

Scott reaches out and switches trays, smiling sheepishly. “Before you stab me, or anything, this is mine. That one’s yours.” He tilts his head toward the tray Lydia’s holding, and she looks down.

A laugh bubbles out of her before she can stop it – it’s a veggie pizza, her favorite. “Thanks, Scott.”

“ _Told_ you I got this.” He grins at her, and Lydia grins back. She walks determinedly outside, sitting at a table with the best people-watching view. Scott sits next to her, and immediately starts eating in the quick, sloppy way that only boys do. It’s effective for the stomach, but not for other’s eyesight. Lydia wrinkles her nose and eats as daintily as possible, taking tiny bites and chewing thoroughly.

“So what do you want to be, anyway?” Is the first thing that comes to mind, and Lydia leans back and raises her eyebrows at Scott like a disappointed parent. It’s her default for him, really. He smiles softly, and it’s completely different from his usual one – this one spreads out on his face, slow and sweet. It’s actually kind of cute. (A lot of things about Scott are kind of cute – it’s very annoying.)

“A vet. I really like animals – my friend Isaac said he’d start one up with me as soon as we got our degrees.”

Lydia’s mouth falls a little in surprise – is Scott McCall even _real_? He’s one of the people that Lydia needs a deep, introspective analysis on. Well. Him and Beyoncé. “Oh.”

Scott tilts his head, wiping his sauce-stained cheeks. “Just an _oh_? Did my profession render you speechless, or something?” His eyes widen. “Am I being punk’d?”

“That show’s been over for years, shut up.” She squints at him, trying to decode the right words. “I’m just…surprised, is all. I thought you and Allison were going to be these ridiculously famous Olympians that everyone creams their pants over.” Her fingers tap on the table, and she smiles at the thought. “Or something.”

Scott makes a face that Lydia doesn’t understand, but she nods like she does anyway. “Sports is more of a pastime. Archery, though. That’s Allison’s life.” He grins fondly at her, and Lydia resists the urge to roll her eyes. “She’ll be the legend, I’ll heal the dogs. It works out.”

“Yeah, sure. _Everyone_ wants a Dog Doctor as a trophy husband, these days,” she says aloud, and wonders why it sounds so bitter. It wasn’t meant to be. Scott rolls his eyes at her and grins.

“It’s good for publicity,” He says with a smirk, and Lydia laughs because it’s true. Allison the Olympian and Scott as her majestical trophy husband – she could see it if she squints. They continue eating – or Lydia does, at least, and then start back to their dorms.

When they stop in front of her room, Lydia grins and punches Scott on the shoulder. “Thanks for the pizza, dork.”

“Anytime, Lydia.”

They part with mutual big grins, and for a second – just a _second_ , Lydia wonders what Scott would be like as _her_ trophy husband. She opens her door with a big swish, and smiles at Allison.

Now that – that’s something she could see.

***

“You know what’s weird?”

“You?” Scott whispers, and his breath is ghosting over her ear in a way that should not be so tantalizing. They’re pressed against each other for equal viewing of The Avengers, torso to torso, leg to leg. Lydia feels a little guilty for enjoying the feel of Scott’s bare leg against hers, but not guilty enough to move away. They’re just watching a movie as _friends_ , that’s all.

She giggles and shoves at him. “No. What’s weird is how you can stay up to watch The Avengers, but not Casablanca.”

“I got bored.” Scott wrinkles his nose, turning to look at her. They’re way too close to be comfortable, and Lydia holds her breath. “Are you okay?”

Her breath blows out and she smiles tightly at Scott, turning to the movie. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Scott turns on his side, propping himself up on his elbows to look at her properly. (Her stomach is actually in _knots_ , she hates him so much.) Lydia presses herself to the wall instead of Scott, scooting as far away as she possibly can.

“Yes, I’m sure. Can we watch the movie, now?” She’s glaring at the screen, now. Maybe if she tries hard enough, she can fall asleep amid the high action sequences. It’d be payback, anyway. Scott raises an eyebrow at her and reaches to touch her cheek, and she tenses. (His hand is so warm, and rough, like he’s calloused all over from one too many lacrosse sessions.)

Of course, that’s exactly when Allison decides to walk in, in all her grace and splendor.

Lydia sits up, and Scott falls off the bed as if he’s been burned. It’s enough of a shock to make her laugh, and she waves at Allison as if she hadn’t spent the better part of her hours watching movies with Scott on his dying laptop. As if she hadn’t _enjoyed_ it.

“Hey, guys…” Allison quirks an eyebrow, taking in the surroundings. Lydia loves Allison; she’s quick to catch on, and she sees _everything_. Which – for today? Is not something that she wants. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Oh, no. Scott was just being a complete loser, the usual. You know how it is.” She waves a hand and smiles, shooting for flippant but ending up being painfully awkward in her disposition. Allison notices this, of course, and frowns at her.

“Yeah, I do. Scott, you ready to leave?”

“Yeah. Yeah, lemme just –“ he grabs his laptop and shoves his feet into his sneakers, smiling up at Allison like she’s the only girl in the world for him. Her heart pangs, and Lydia sympathizes with it. She _shouldn’t_ , but she _does_.

She moves on autopilot, waving goodbye to her friends and grabbing her notes from earlier. The more she throws herself into thinking, the better.

Thinking about dating Scott is one thing, but actually _wanting_ to do it? Completely different. And completely dangerous, considering Scott is Allison’s boyfriend. Lydia shuts her eyes and tries to remember that.

It doesn’t work.

It’s a few more weeks until Allison breaks up with Scott, and Scott starts coming in when he’s sure it’s just Lydia in the room, bearing ice cream and the saddest movies on the planet. (Lydia likes seeing Scott cry – he’s certainly at his most vulnerable, all his big smiles and even bigger bravado broken down in favor of weeping at dying dogs.)

“Do you have any idea how pathetic this is?” She asks, snatching his empty quart of ice cream out of his hands. “I mean really, Scott. She’s moved on, so should you.”

“But I can’t! A week ago we were talking about how much we loved each other, and now _this_.” He sniffles, and Lydia’s sympathy gauge officially runs on empty.

“Get a bridge and get over it.” Scott scoffs at her joke, wiping at his tears.

“You just don’t _understand_.”

Lydia grabs her pillow and screams into it, throwing it at Scott’s head as soon as she’s done. He falls over pathetically into her lap, and Lydia just rolls her eyes and rubs his temples. She’s really sure this soothes _her_ more than him, but whatever.  “Trust me, Scott,” she coos, and Scott looks up at her because she never coos at him. “I understand. I know that breaking up with someone sucks, but you’ve got to get your feet on the ground, alright? This is just _pitiful_.”

She hears him sigh, and can feel the air hitting her wrist. (She wants him so much it _burns_.) “You’ve got a point, I guess.”

“You _guess_?” She leans over and raises an eyebrow at him, and they’re too close. Lydia doesn’t feel guilty about it at all, anymore.

“I _know_.” He grins up at her, and the moment feels like a Polaroid – Scott beaming up at her, the sun shining through the windows. It feels intimate, and so right that it freaks her out. Lydia presses her hands to his chest and sits up, rolling her eyes as if she feels nothing. (She _doesn’t_. If she tries hard enough, she can turn to stone – no one can touch her.)

“Exactly. Now, are we going to finish Marley & Me, or what?”

***

She dates Jackson, because he’s convenient.

Because she doesn’t like Scott – no, no. She does, just not like _that_. She doesn’t like him like _that_ , and she never will, because he’s Scott McCall, all sunshine and rainbows and soft-spoken. So she dates Jackson, who is completely opposite, and completely perfect for her. He’s hard edges, and sarcasm that cuts to the bone, and _Stiles_ doesn’t like him, so it works out amazingly well.

Except for the fact that, well. She can’t _not_ think about Scott. She stops talking to him as soon as she decides Jackson is more her speed, and it aches. Lydia didn’t know she would miss anyone so much that she loses sleep over it – he keeps her awake without even being there, and it’s the worst.

Jackson has the decency to stay awake throughout Casablanca, but Scott doesn’t. She misses that.

Jackson doesn’t know what she wants to eat, _ever_ , but Scott always does. She misses that.

She misses his dumb hair that never fell quite into place, and the way he smelled like Old Spice and peppermint, and his smile. _God_ , she misses his smile.

She loves Scott, but it’s not convenient in any sense of the word.

***

It takes approximately three days, two hours, and five minutes to locate Stiles. According to every mutual friend they have, he moves around a lot. It’s a nuisance, but she can handle it.

She’s on a mission.

Lydia slides out of her heels and tosses one at Stiles’ head as soon as she spots his buzz cut in the crowd. He yelps, and it’s a sickly satisfying sound. She taps her fingernails against her bare stomach until she gets sick of waiting for him, so she aims another one at him. This time, he turns.

She grins at him with wide eyes.

“Lydia, what a pleasure to see you again. Really. You’re great.” Stiles deadpans as he tosses her shoes back, and she slips them on with ease. “What brings you here?”

“I’m not here to see your show, Stiles.” She takes a deep breath and steels herself while Stiles whines. “I want to know where Scott is.”

“Scott? He’s……that’s a really good question. He could be anywhere, by now. Here, there. Everywhere. You ask good questions, did you know that – _ow_!”

Lydia yanks him down to her size by his ear, and grins viciously at him. “Where is Scott, Stiles? If I have to ask _again_ , my stiletto will end up in much more deadly places than the back of your head.”

“Jesus, fine, he’s at the vet! He’s working for Deaton.” She lets him go and nods once, understanding. “Just – listen, don’t do that to him again, okay?”

Her patience is wearing thin, but she bites the bullet anyway. “And to _what_ are you referring, Stilinski?”

“Abandon him. It’s a thing – don’t do it again.”

Lydia nods again, frowning as if she’s been scolded. “I won’t, I promise.”

The nearest vet is right by campus, and it’s easy to locate where Scott is. She barges into the backroom with little preamble, and Scott shrieks when he sees her. “ _Lydia_? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, nothing, I just wanted to see you.” She shrugs as casually as possible, and Scott looks angry for the first time ever. She’s known him for most of the year, and he never gets angry.

“You can’t just show up at my job and demand to see me, Lydia. It doesn’t work like that.”

Lydia scoffs and steps closer, crowding Scott in. “And how, exactly, does it work, Scott? I haven’t seen you in a month and you’re the one who decided to have a job – we wouldn’t be having this problem if you didn’t.”

Scott makes a face at her, huffing out a sigh and leaning into the wall. Lydia steps closer still – their hips are touching. Scott says nothing of it. “What a completely unselfish thing for you to say.”

“I know, right?” She grins at him and stands on her tiptoes – Scott’s hands find their way to her waist, and suddenly, she feels alive. “I’m sorry, Scott.”

“For what?”

“Leaving. And also really liking you when you were with Allison. That’s probably a sin, or something.” She knows it’s a sin, she’s read the bible. A few times, actually. It’s an interesting read.

“I guess I’m sorry too, then.” Lydia presses her hands to his chest, her eyebrows furrowing in question.

“For what?”

“I really liked you too. I still do, actually.” He chuckles and brushes back a strand of her hair – it’s completely cliché and so _Scott_ but it works, she still wants this.

“Of course you do.” Lydia leans in to kiss him, and it feels like a weight flying off her shoulders. He responds in kind, and his lips are just as soft as she’d think they’d be. She kisses him, and it’s a little rough, because she’s wanted for so long and now she has it and it feels amazing.

Her hands drag across his biceps, and his along her torso. They stay like that for a while, lost in time – it’s another Polaroid that Lydia wishes she could keep forever. She pulls away with a bite to his bottom lip, grinning up at Scott. “We should do that more often,” Lydia pants, and Scott’s lips are a hundred times better centimeters from hers, up close for her to see in detail.

He smiles like sunshine, and presses a kiss to her nose. “Whenever you want.” 


End file.
